Ten Times Ten
by TheBlueFoxtrot A Samba
Summary: Drabble/oneshot series of 100. Characters and length to vary. Now up: What's the rule for not taking rides from strangers if you used to know them?
1. Turn Not Away

Disclaimer: I don't own it, but I'm certainly willing to trade.

Prompt: 100 Word Prompt

Character: Robin

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><p>1. Aberrant<p>

He needed it. Desperately, it called to him, sang to him, like a siren. It begged him to take it into himself. It promised to renew him, make him smarter, stronger. Invincible.

He needed it.

The black liquid stood innocently in the glass pot. Too many people misinterpreted black to be something bad. It wasn't. They just didn't understand. Its rich scent enticed him to take a step. Then one more and a few more until it was _right there._

He knew how to prepare it; he knew what to do to make the brew just _perfect_. But should he?

Bruce wouldn't be at all pleased if he did. The last time he had it, he'd threaten to have his stomach pumped free of the foul concoction. That wasn't at all a pleasant experience. It might be worth it though. Besides, what Bruce didn't know, wouldn't hurt.

But _Batman_ knew everything. He didn't really think he cared though. Batman didn't understand how important it was. Roy knew. Roy would let him have it. In fact, Roy was the one who'd given him his first taste.

But oh, it had been far too long since he'd last tasted the dark brew, far too long since it had made his entire body sing. The absolute high it brought him was near incomparable to anything else.

He wanted it. He didn't even have to drink it all, he told himself as he poured out a portion for himself. Only a little, was what he thought as he dumped in an oh-so-certain mix that would help give it that extra...pep. He carefully stirred it, careful not to let the spoon clink against his cup.

When it was perfect, stirred down to a _beautifully perfect _cream, he drank just one sip. As it slid down his throat, warming all the way down to his belly, he licked his lips and cast a careful glance around. And he drank just a little bit more. In little time, his cup was empty. Yet his thirst for it had only increased.

He needed it.

He wanted it.

So he drank.

An hour later, when Robin was literally bouncing off the walls and cackling like a hyena, his teammates found a terribly empty pot of coffee.

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><p>AN: Admit it! Who thought I was talking about drugs and who figured it out?

Aberrant: straying from the right way


	2. Love or Something Like It

Cul-de-sac: any situation in which further progress is impossible

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><p>We could talk for hours. It doesn't matter. She doesn't hear a <em>word<em> I say. I mean, sure, nothing all that reverent comes up in the conversations, but that doesn't matter. She laughs, I laugh, and we enjoy some good, old fashioned communication. Apparently, something gets lost in translation. Every. Single. Time.

I kinda felt like I was missing something sometimes. Wasn't there a song about this exact thing? Girls came from Mars, and boys from Jupiter. Maybe if I could remember that, it might have something useful in it. Some of life's biggest answers could be found in song by the wise men and women who penned them.

With Meg though, I always get the feeling that we're connecting in some way. Or we're about to. Like that breakthrough is just _right there._ I don't know if I'm not saying it right, or if she's not paying attention. I think if she did, she'd like me too.

I know she likes Superboy. I have eyes, too. All brawn and brooding. He's like a muscular, tan Edward Cullen without the promise of being damned to hell for being with him. Not that I'm into the series or anything, but if a girl's gonna go with some supernatural, freaky freak guy, it'd make better sense to go with the guy who's actually _alive_ and won't result in eternal damnation. Not that I'm into Twilight or whatever it's called. It's a totally lame series; I'm just saying though.

Now, neither me or Superboy come with a sure ticket to hell, and I may not be every girl's dream case of tall, dark, and brooding, but I got a lot of other things going for me. I'm average height, kinda freckly, and fun. And I have a devastating wit and a great smile. Sure I can be a goof, but it's part of the charm.

What's Superboy got that I don't? Besides daddy issues and huge muscles and a freaking six pack? Which is unfair. I mean, he just _has _them; he was literally born with them.

I like Megan. I _really, really _like Megan. I'm pretty sure I might be obvious about it too. Rob says it's painful to watch, but he's an over-exaggerative jerk so I don't listen to him. I get that Meg's , like, a total innocent and doesn't get how things are done on Earth, and they don't date on Mars; they do this thing where a bunch of them get together and then – well…I probably shouldn't go there. It's a little freaky. But Meg's not. She's, like, the coolest, awesomest, beautiful girl ever. And that's not just 'cause she's green and I'm a Star Trek guy obsessed with green girls. It's not.

But she's gotta at least be aware about how I feel. Even a little. Should I say something? Like, outright say it? I've hinted at it. _More _than hinted actually. Maybe she knows I like her but doesn't feel the same way? Maybe she's just trying to be nice by not saying anything about it because she's not interested? Maybe she doesn't think we should be more than friends because we're on a team together?

Let's be real. Hop out of the river Denial. Take the blinders off. What it came down to: Me and Meg were friends. Just friends. And for the foreseeable future, that was how the situation would stay.

That really sucks. Like, a lot.

Hurts a little too. Dreams and teen love are slowly but surely shattering before my eyes in the wake of logic and reasoning. It's not going to happen. Just hit the brakes and park it here, West.

This was so depressing.

Wally kicked his already tangled sheets off of him and stood from his bed. With eyes feeling like sandpaper and a sleep-deprived headache developing, he stumbled out of his room to the kitchen. Turning his eyes away from the light that came on in the freezer, he blindly grabbed the gallon of fruity-tooty of ice cream.

He was going to make like a girl for the next few hours and consume every bit of ice cream and chocolate in the house while watching whatever soaps came on at this time of morning. Then when he was done here, he'd run over to his aunt and uncle's house and repeat. If that didn't cure what ailed this little achy feeling he was having in his chest cavity, he'd run to Gotham. Alfred always had cookies.

His mom would probably make a fuss, and he'd probably be totally _wired _during school, but he didn't care. He was mourning dead dreams that got buried at the Impasse of Friendship, an immovable block that had claimed many flights of fancy before and surely after him.

Wally frowned at the TV, as a love triangle similar to his own recent drama unfolded. Petulantly, he shoved another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. That was _so_ it. He was now aiming for a sugar coma.

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><p>You would love me too by JJ Heller was partly used for this ficlet.<p> 


	3. Learning to Fly

A **vignette** is a short, well written sketch or descriptive scene. It does not have a plot which would make it a story, but it does reveal something about the elements in it. It may reveal character, or mood or tone. It may have a theme or idea of its own that it wants to convey.

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><p>How did birds learn flight? As young, a bird learned how to fly by either jumping out of the nest on its own or its mother pushed it. Birds learned hard lessons much earlier than humans. Fly or die. Do or die.<p>

How did a Kryptonian clone residing on a planet lit by a yellow sun learn how to fly? Ideally, another Kryptonian would teach the other. However, the older one, Kal-el, has priorities; the younger, Kon-el, ranked far, _far_ on that list.

He might not even be on it.

So then. How?

The sun glared down on Happy Harbor, glinting silver and gold across the ocean water. Far below Mount Justice, the surrounding forest made an emerald carpet, even creeping far near to mountain's plateau.

The mountain was tall, certainly not the tallest in the world. And Conner had also noticed this before. Yet now, as he looked down, it seemed much higher. He wasn't afraid of the height; it wouldn't hurt him. He was…anxious about the fall. About failing.

He wasn't all that super if he couldn't fly now, was he?

Standing at the edge and looking down, he knew he had to jump. Figure it out on his own. How many times would he have to do this? How many times would he fail? Would he ever succeed?

And then suddenly, Conner couldn't do it. His mind knew he had to, but his body no longer listened to his commands. He couldn't jump.

Then suddenly, with a gentle hand, Dinah pushed.


	4. She's Still Got It

Vestige: a trace of something that is no longer present

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><p>Sportsmaster has no good reason for being this close to their apartment. He's supposed to stay out of her life – both of them. That's the deal. It's not like he's interfering though. He's just posted atop an adjacent building that affords him a clear view of the living room and a little bit of the hall through the window with a pair of high-power binoculars. Spying is not interfering.<p>

Of course, he doesn't need a reason anyway.

Artemis isn't there. She left hours ago with her little team. He'd trailed her from her new school to a diner before she'd lost him. It was a method he'd taught her, to never be predictable, never have a set path. He couldn't count the number of people who'd been killed because they never deviated from routine.

Paula rolls into view for a moment with a laundry basket balanced on her lap. It's an awkward load and an odd sight. She hadn't done laundry when they were married.

His attention is drawn to the street where a man is talking to himself and tearing at his skin with his nails. He snorts with contempt. Crackhead. Gotham is all full of them as nuts with funky masks and cheap gags. He ignores the drug addict because it's not his problem if the fool wanders into traffic.

When he looks back through the window, there are clothes strewn on the living room floor. The lamp is knocked across the back of the couch, and there's a shadow moving around too large to be Artemis, and suddenly he is running.

_Now_ he has a reason. Not like he was waiting for one.

0o0

Of course the windows aren't unlocked. These can't be broken easily, but he installed them himself. He's inside in a moment, and it doesn't look as bad as that view through the window led him to believe. It's quiet though, and there are more clothes in the hall. A few steps take him to the living room, and three things immediately catch his notice.

One: Paula is alive. She's been tossed out of her wheelchair which is on its side with an idly spinning wheel. There is also nothing wrong with her head, because she has a perfect target on him with that crossbow in her hand.

Two: There's a guy with an arrow in him literally pinned to the wall. He doesn't care if he's dead or not.

Three: He shouldn't be as relieved as he is.

He grins under the mask, hearing the sound of crossbow string tight and a finger ghost the trigger. It's just too much like the first time they met.

"What are you doing here?"

He looks over his shoulder and down to his wife. She's on the floor and propped up on an elbow. A bit of blood clings to her lip, and her aim is steady on his back, probably centered on his spine. There's a very clear challenge on her face, and he knows that she will shoot him if he provokes her. His thanks for trying to be a hero.

He cuts his eyes to the man slumped against the wall.

"Would you believe I forgot something?"

"What did you forget?"

"Forgot again," he says, shrugging helplessly.

She lowers the crossbow as she scoots toward her chair. Lawrence turns to face her, and up goes the crossbow. He forgot how funny she was.

"So you'd rather spend the better portion of your night struggling to get back in that chair on your own when I can have you back in ten seconds?"

She keeps those dark eyes on him, as if the offer might somehow upset this new life she's trying to do. She places the bow on the coffee table next to her and sighs.

"Come help me then."

He does, lifting her up without so much as a grunt and for the moment when her arms are around his neck and she's so _close_ to him, he remembers. He picks up the crossbow as she's settling, ignoring her wary look. He fiddles with the string and says almost conversationally,

"You smell nice."

The silence lingers for a long time with her just staring at him.

"Were you worried about me?" she asks.

"I know better than to insult you to your face," he snorts.

"Then stop spying on me. It's annoying."

He only nods.

"I need a favor though. Take him to the police station."

He throws his head back and laughs.

"Like hell am I gonna do that. I'll leave him in a park or somethin' for you. How's that?"

"Thank you."

"Right," he drops the bow back on the table and goes to collect the intruder. He spreads his arms grandly. "Anything else I can do for you? Get you coffee? Finish the laundry? Maybe replace that door?"

"I can handle things from here, Lawrence."

"Of course you can."

The arrow caught him just above the shoulder, pinning his shirt to the wall without a scratch on him. He yanks it out, and just a slight tint to the knockout gas lingers in the air. One handed, he picks the would-be burglar up and tosses him over his shoulder.

With a mock salute to her, he says, "Good night, Paula."

"Goodbye, Lawrence," she responds deliberately.

He folds himself through the window onto the fire escape, unmindful of the package across his shoulder as he bumps against the wall. He plans to dropkick him down the stairway anyway. Though they were divorced, it was the principle of the matter. He had the right to do damage with extreme prejudice to anyone who harmed the mother of his children. It was, in fact, a rule.

He lets his load drop and crouches down to slap him across the face. It rouses his fogged mind just enough. Sportsmaster stands him up, swaying and disoriented. Deliberately, he plants his foot somewhere between the man's lungs and colon and down he goes.

Yes, it was a rule. As of just now.


	5. What You've Done to Me

Siren: sea nymph

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><p>Have you ever been punched in the stomach before? I'm not talking some playful jab. I mean someone tried to get their fist through your belly kind of punch. It's the kind where air is ripped out of your lungs and you're struggling to pull it back in, halfway convinced that you're dying. It's the one you don't see coming. It actually makes you gag a little bit.<p>

That is what it felt like when I figured out I was in love.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm some idiot, nineteen year old, hormonal man-child who play acts at being a vigilante. What would I know about love? Well, I know enough. I know I'd die to protect her. I'd make an absolute fool of myself just to see her smile. I know that I'd give her the moon if she asked.

I looked at her, and at first, there wasn't anything special about her. But then she turned her head and looked at me, and in that one moment, I felt like I just got sucker punched. My knees went weak, and the world faded and I just saw her and her beautiful bright eyes.

You know what the crazy part is? I'm not entirely sure she knows I exist. But I know what I feel for her is real. It's more real than anything I've ever felt before.

My name is Roy Harper. At three weeks old, Lian Harper has my heart wrapped around her perfect, little fingers, and I cannot wait to see Ollie's face when I call him Grandpa.


	6. Visiting Other Worlds

**Stygian: extremely dark or forbidding**

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><p>Jason Todd had a new view of the world the moment he woke up in his coffin. There were times that he saw the world with such startling clarity, the good and the bad and the ignorant, and it all made him sick. Then sometimes, he'd sit outside some place and watch the world go by, and he didn't have a clue what was going on. He didn't know why he did the things he did. He didn't know if he were proud of them, or whether he just wanted to go home, or anything.<p>

Sometimes, he was just so tired. He'd get his revolver – the only one he owned because it was impractical, but classic Clint Eastwood – put one bullet in, and spin the chamber around. If he died again, if he put a bullet in his head, would he come back? Would anyone care? Did he?

Sometimes, he didn't. The city noise was loud and there, even so late at night. Early morning to some, and sirens wail in the distance. A bass was booming loud against the speakers of a car down below his apartment. A train rumbled across the high-rise track directly behind him. It was nights like this that got him. Sometimes, he put the gun to his temple, closed his eyes…

He pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked empty, and the noises changed. It was quiet. He opened his eyes and found that he was not in his apartment. For one, his place wasn't in a cave. For another, he didn't own a giant, white dog.

The dog opened his large, yellow eyes and zeroed in on him. It stood up, and Jason realized that was not a normal dog. It growled and took a step toward him. He brought the gun level, aiming between the eyes, and the dog hesitated.

He pulled the trigger, and the gun clicked empty. The dog bared its teeth - he could swear it was smirking at him - and charged while Jason kept firing. On the sixth shot, the bullet shot out of the gun, taking a chunk out of its ear. The dog sank its teeth into Jason's gauntlet at the same time he dropped the gun and pulled his knife.

Right now, if no one else in the world did, Jason cared.


	7. Sisters of Dysfunction

Disclaimer: See, me and the boys were playin' poker, right? The coffee was flowin' fast and free, and I needed a minute to handle the plumbing, and I know - I just _know_ - that they messed with my cards. So, nah. I don't own 'em. But just wait 'til the _next_ game.

And that's why you won't be seein' Red X no time soon.

Now, let's get to this fic, hm?

Acumen: shrewdness

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><p>Artemis shivered, pulling her jacket tighter around her and digging her numb hands under her arms. She'd mistakenly grabbed her lightweight jacket this morning, a rather monumental mistake in a wintery Gotham. This was on top of the fact that she'd missed her bus home, all because one of the teachers felt the need to talk to her about how she seemed distracted and tired during class.<p>

She wasn't sure why the teacher brought it up since she hadn't failed any tests or quizzes. Artemis just figured that the woman liked to hear herself talk and got some kind of self-importance from trying to mentor the scholarship kids. Whatever the reasoning, Artemis had missed her bus and didn't have enough cash for cab fare. The train was eight blocks away so she trudged her way there.

A sudden flash of jealousy for Wally's super-speed washed over her. That was followed by the mental image of the way he ate, and she quickly dismissed her envy as she readjusted her messenger bag.

A blue sports car crept up beside her, and she casually glanced at it, moving away from the street. The windows were tinted, blocking her view of the driver, and unease began to creep over her. Artemis didn't know anyone with that kind of car and couldn't think of why anyone she knew would be following her.

Unless it was one of her Dad's friends.

Artemis walked gradually slower, watching as the car sped up and turned right at the corner. Sighing, she rolled her eyes at her own paranoia and picked up the pace, anxious to get home and out of the cold. Reaching the corner that the car had gone around, her breath hitched a little, not just when she saw the car again, this time parked at the curb, but her sister, sitting on the trunk grinning at her.

"Yo," Jade called out.

"What are you doing here?" Artemis snapped warily.

The last time she'd seen her big sister, Jade had been trying to assassinate a scientist under the Shadows' orders. Before that, it was when she was still a kid, and Jade had abandoned her to their father and run off.

"Is that any way to greet your big sister?" she asked, holding her arms out as if she expected a hug.

"When the sister is you? I'd say so."

Jade smirked and dropped her arms, crossing her legs at the ankles.

"Well, fine then. I suppose that means you don't wanna ride home?"

Artemis' eyes narrowed as she considered. Her sister wasn't the same girl she used to know. She didn't know what she would and would not do. It could be a trap by the Shadows.

"It's got heated seats, you know," Jade added. "_Very _nice."

"I'll pass."

"Oh, would you quit being stubborn? I can hear your teeth chattering from here."

At that exact moment, the wind picked up, tearing through her think jacket and flaring up the short skirt of her uniform. Artemis yelped as she held the skirt down and hurried for the car, her sister's laughter chasing her. Jade soon joined her, sliding into the driver's seat, still chuckling. Artemis had already turned the vents onto her hands and feet but paused to send her sister a glare.

"Shut up and drive," Artemis muttered, red-faced from the cold and embarrassment.

"Shut up and drive what?"

"…the car."

"No, I'm sorry. The correct answer is please. I also would have taken 'Shazam'," Jade answered, inordinately amused.

"Ugh. I am so out of here," Artemis snapped, reaching for the door handle.

"Chill out, would you? I'm teasing you," Jade rolled her eyes then proceeded to shift the car into gear and flow back into traffic. "You know. As in making a joke at your expense. You never used to be _this _sensitive."

"Yeah? Well, a lot has changed."

Jade glanced aside at her sister then shrugged. "I suppose so."

"So what? This your way of apologizing or something?"

"What on earth would I have to apologize for?"

"Leaving me with dad," Artemis counted off on her hand, "knocking me out that one time, blackmailing me, being an all-around terrible role model for my impressionable self. Take your pick."

"There is no reason to take any of that personally."

Jade said and flipped the radio on, and something loud and obnoxious blasted through. It was exactly the kind of music their dad hated, and that was why Jade insisted that she loved it so much. Artemis was pretty sure her sister just liked to be contrary. She noticed her sister's nails, painted deep red, perfectly neat and manicured. Then she looked at her own, bitten short, and felt the calluses on her fingers. Suddenly annoyed, she slumped back in her seat and turned her attention to the window. Artemis leaned forward to spin the volume down.

"Jade, this isn't the way home."

"Sure it is. It's just a different route."

"If this is some kind of trick –"

"How much of a jerk do you think I am?"

Artemis crossed her arms as she turned to her sister. "Honestly?"

Jade rolled her eyes and threw up her hands, steering the car expertly with her knees. "All right, you caught me. I'm kidnapping you as we speak because I just so want to be with your paranoid, bitter self."

Jade turned the car down another street, one that Artemis recognized from her usual route home.

"Whatever."

Her sister looked at her aside and said, "I heard Mom kicked Lawrence out."

Artemis heard something in her voice, almost like amusement. She felt a smile tugging at her lips in response as she recalled the event.

"Yep."

Jade slid a sly glance her way. "Was she brutal?"

Artemis smirked and flipped a hand. "It's _Mom_. What do you think?"

"Wish I could have seen that."

Soon after that, Jade stopped the car in front of the apartment complex. Artemis climbed out, flinching as the cold rushed over her, and dragged her back out with her. She ducked down to peer in at her sister through the lowered car window.

"You know, you _can_ come see Mom for yourself," she offered, unable to quell that tiny hint of hope in her voice. Despite what she said and how she should feel, Jade was still her sister. There was still a part of her that wanted that same kind of relationship they'd had when they were younger. "She'll be home pretty soon."

Jade held her gaze and smiled. "Some other time. I gotta get to work." And she winked.

Artemis watched her sister drive off, waving a little. As she headed toward the door of the apartment building, she didn't wonder about what her teammates would think of her cavorting with her villainous sister, the one they didn't even know about. Instead, she dug around her bag and pulled out the transmitter for the GPS she'd planted in Jade's car the moment she'd climbed in. The only thing she wondered if she'd handle her sister on her own or let the big guns take care of her.

Then again, it was a family matter after all.


End file.
